


Round My Heart Entwine

by Splix_Archive (splix)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splix/pseuds/Splix_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan celebrate anniversaries as master and apprentice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Round My Heart Entwine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Special Day](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25550) by kimberlite. 



> Fond thanks: to kimberlite, Artemis, and Merry Amelie, for beta assistance, friendship, and support. 
> 
> Dedicated to Merry Amelie.

Obi-Wan's face was flushed with pleasure. "No one's ever cooked a meal for me before," he said. "Just for me, I mean."

Qui-Gon set two plates on the table; one was a vegetable compote drizzled with some fragrant and savory oil, the other was rice mixed with finely shredded meat and a reddish sauce. "I tried to remember what you liked to eat. I hope this comes close."

"It's wonderful," Obi-Wan replied, breathing in the delicious aromas. He beamed at his master as Qui-Gon sat, folding his napkin in his lap. Picking up a serving spoon, he dug it into the meat and rice, holding the other hand out for Qui-Gon's plate. "Master?"

They ate in silence. Obi-Wan tried not to look around too openly; he'd never been in Qui-Gon's quarters for more than a few moments at a time in between missions.

Qui-Gon patted his mouth with his napkin. "You haven't been here often, Padawan."

Obi-Wan ducked his head. "No, Master. Not often."

"You may look around, if you wish -- not that there's much to see. I'm not a collector of objects."

Obi-Wan swallowed, feeling a pang of disappointment. Maybe Qui-Gon wouldn't like his present. "I'm sure they're fine, Master -- perhaps later, thank you. And thank you for inviting me."

"Well," Qui-Gon smiled, "this is a memorable occasion. One year together as master and padawan. Frankly, I'm a little surprised we have the free time to celebrate."

"Yes, it's been a busy year."

"Very," Qui-Gon agreed. He sat back in his chair, examining Obi-Wan and absently rotating a cup of tea in his hand. "Very busy, and not all of it pleasant."

Obi-Wan looked down at his food. "No, I suppose not." There had been harsh moments for both of them -- moments in which Obi-Wan had thought Qui-Gon would never see him or speak to him again. He still felt the weight of Qui-Gon's disapproval at times, but did his best to overcome his own trepidation and win his master's trust. It was occasionally wearing, but he knew himself to be improving, and felt hope.

"But on the whole," Qui-Gon said softly, "it has also been very rewarding. Thank you for that, Padawan."

Obi-Wan felt his face break into a happy grin. "Thank you, Master." He reached into the pocket of his tunic. "I didn't know if it was customary for an exchange of gifts, and I know you're not a collector, but I thought --"

Qui-Gon stretched out his hand, allowing Obi-Wan to drop the object in his palm. He looked at his gift curiously, turning it over with a fingertip. "This --"

"It's a mineral," Obi-Wan interrupted. "Touch the tip of your finger to the surface and hold it there. Watch."

Qui-Gon did as he was told, placing his fingertip against the stone and waiting. The mineral changed color beneath the heat, turning from an ordinary grey to a deep, brilliant crimson. He looked up at Obi-Wan. "These are native to Telos."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. Had he erred in giving it to Qui-Gon? Was it too harsh a reminder of the recently dead Xanatos? Cursing himself for his thoughtlessness, he took a breath, intending to tell Qui-Gon that it wasn't important after all.

To Obi-Wan's surprise, Qui-Gon rose from his chair, walked to Obi-Wan's, and crouched beside it, looking up into his padawan's face. "I don't think I've ever noticed how very pretty they are," Qui-Gon said in the same soft tone. He placed it on the table, admiring its vivid color. "Thank you very much, Padawan. I'm sorry -- I didn't think to get you anything. Not many masters and apprentices exchange anniversary presents."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't need anything, Master. I just wanted to commemorate the day somehow." He watched Qui-Gon pick up the mineral again and turn it round in his hand. Qui-Gon's eyes were distant and, Obi-Wan fancied, a little melancholy. "I hope it pleases you," Obi-Wan said, trying to banish the anxiety that prickled at him.

The distant look in Qui-Gon's eyes vanished, and all at once he seemed fully aware of Obi-Wan's presence. He smiled warmly, brushing a hand over Obi-Wan's soft hair, and for one fleeting moment cupping his soft, still rounded cheek. "It pleases me very much, Padawan. Very much indeed."

****************** 

"I don't think you understand," Obi-Wan said, gritting his teeth at the sound of another nearby structure collapsing. "We need to get him to --"

"No -- I don't think YOU understand, young man," said Ara Feryin, pushing a short, stubby finger against Obi-Wan's chest. She stared up at him angrily, her round face flushed and sweating. "We're in a war, in case you hadn't noticed. You think I don't know he needs more care than I can give him? This isn't much more than a triage station. It's filthy. I don't have my microinstruments, there isn't enough anaesthetic, I don't --" She took a breath and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said quietly. He stood still for a moment, his fists clenched in frustration and indecision. Slowly, he uncurled his hands and deepened his breathing. "What can I do to help?"

Flinching at an explosion outside, Ara glanced over at Qui-Gon, who lay on a cot, his hands crossed over his belly, his face white and sheened with a sweat that had nothing to do with the sweltering temperature of the abandoned and rubble-laden factory in which they'd taken refuge.

Obi-Wan followed her gaze, his heart twisting in his chest. Qui-Gon looked so still, so appallingly still. He was barefoot; strangely, that, more than the gaping wound in his abdomen, made him appear vulnerable.

"There's nothing you can do," the healer said sharply. Her small, pudgy body sagged. "Wait. Go sit with him a bit." The anger in her face had shifted to weary sympathy. "Talk to him, before...before I operate. Dar and I will take care of him."

Obi-Wan stood still. He wanted to ask about the operation, about Qui-Gon's chances for survival, but another explosion rocked the factory, knocking meager supplies off shelves and sending piles of scrap metal in all directions.

"Go on, Obi-Wan. We don't have time to stand around jabbering. I have to get cleaned up." Ara pushed him in Qui-Gon's direction and hurried off.

Obi-Wan approached Qui-Gon's cot, noting rivulets of blood trickling from between Qui-Gon's fingers. "Master," he said softly.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. They were red, as though the blood from the wound in his stomach wanted to rise to the surface and emerge from every possible place. There was no blood from his mouth, though, which was a relief. "Obi-Wan," he whispered, turning his head. "Are we decamping?"

Obi-Wan crouched beside the cot and shook his head. "No, Master. We're hiding here until the raiders pass. There are too many to fight now. Ara's scrubbing up to operate on you."

Qui-Gon gave a minute nod of his head. His eyes flicked to his midsection, to his bloodstained hands. "What happened?" He spoke calmly through cracked, dry lips, though barely above a whisper; he might have been asking Obi-Wan to recount the contents of his latest meal. "I don't remember much beyond the barrier breach."

The necessary words stuck in Obi-Wan's throat; it took tremendous effort to speak. "You were shot in the abdomen, Master. Ara thinks there's some shrapnel that needs removing." He spoke firmly, the brave and serene Jedi. He did not say that Qui-Gon had been struck by exploding ballistic ammunition, a primitive device that tore one's innards apart; nor did he tell his master how bad the injuries were. He would not reveal the truth of his emotions, how small and helpless he felt, when Qui-Gon needed him to be strong.

Qui-Gon nodded; the small movement set him to weak, painful-sounding coughing, and now there was blood -- a thin trail oozing from the corner of his mouth and disappearing into his beard.

Obi-Wan saw it and wanted to moan aloud. With a trembling hand, he reached out and gently wiped the blood from Qui-Gon's mouth with the sleeve of his outer tunic, his gaze darting around in panic. "It won't be long, Master. Ara and Dar will have you up and about in no time."

Qui-Gon's eyes were unfocused, his brow knotted in pain. He stared uncomprehendingly at Obi-Wan, then his vision seemed to clear. "Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master?"

"You -- do you remember what today is?"

Obi-Wan felt his mouth tremble as he approximated a smile. "Of course, Master. How could I possibly forget?" Today was the fifth anniversary of his apprenticeship. He had not mentioned it to Qui-Gon in advance. They had been busy fending off marauders from the capital city for the past three weeks, and making sporadic attempts at negotiation. Qui-Gon's wound was the last response from the raiders.

"You've been a...very fine apprentice," Qui-Gon said. More blood trickled from his mouth.

Obi-Wan sponged the blood with his tunic sleeve again, maintaining an air of serenity. Qui-Gon's words had the mark of finality about them, and Obi-Wan was not ready to hear that. He knew it was a failing; he should be making ready to let his master go into the Force, perhaps even easing his possible fears, guiding him along with the soft preparatory litanies of death. But it was clear that Qui-Gon was not in need of reassurance.

Tears stung at Obi-Wan's eyes, but he would not let them fall. "I intend to spend the next several years being a more dutiful and obedient apprentice than I have been," he said. "I haven't made things easy for you, have I?"

Qui-Gon smiled, though his eyes were dull with pain. "No, but you've...made my life rewarding, Padawan." He reached up and groped for Obi-Wan's hand, clasping it. Sticky, warm blood fused their hands together. "Long past the time...I thought it would be."

"Master, don't --" Obi-Wan caught himself. "Don't strain yourself talking, Master. You need all your strength." He folded Qui-Gon's hand back over his blood-soaked tunic.

"I didn't...get you a gift," Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan smoothed back an errant strand of Qui-Gon's hair. "Give me a speedy recovery," he said in a choked voice. "I won't ask for anything else from you." I'm not ready, he thought. Not ready to let you go.

"Padawan."

"Yes, Master?"

One corner of Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. "I'll do my best for you."

"Obi-Wan," Ara said quietly, making Obi-Wan jump. "We're ready for him."

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, his vision blurred. "May I go in with you?"

"No," the healer said, though without harshness. "I need to concentrate, and your presence would be a distraction."

Dar, Ara's assistant, handed Obi-Wan a cup of juice. "Drink this," he said. "We'll fetch you if -- when he's in recovery."

"Rest, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured. "May the Force be with you."

Obi-Wan turned to his master and bent close to him. "May it be with you also, Master. I'll be waiting right here for you." He watched in fear as Qui-Gon's eyes slipped closed, and Dar and Ara bore him off on the wheeled cot.

He sank into a corner and drank the juice. It felt cool and tasted sweet. Setting the empty cup down, he drew up his knees and encircled them with his arms. Another explosion shook the building. There was nothing he could do; the marauders outnumbered them by the hundreds, and they were cut off from the main fighting. Their only chance for survival was to hide until the worst was over. He hoped the fighters would not enter the factory.

Resting his forehead upon his knees, he thought about the day. It was a strange way to mark an anniversary, but not entirely out of the ordinary. They had little time for recreation. Still, five years seemed a touchstone of some kind, and he was glad Qui-Gon had mentioned it.

There had been times in the last five years that had felt like an eternity. Qui-Gon was a demanding master, and Obi-Wan had often been caught between an eager desire to please and despairing wonder that he'd ever make a Knight. He knew it would be a long, hard road because of his constant restless gaze toward the future; sometimes Qui-Gon's insistence on existing in the moment was nothing but arduous trial. And yet, somehow, they'd managed to get along; they enjoyed one another's company, fought together as one, and frequently communicated with mere looks or gestures. After five years, they were partners and firm friends.

Five years had been a very short time, Obi-Wan realized, and wet the rent knees of his trousers with a few bitter tears. After some time, fatigued, grieving, and drugged from the sedative Dar had slipped into the juice, he fell asleep.

He awoke with a start, unnerved. It was daylight, and the noise of weapons fire and explosives had ceased. He sat up, seeing he'd been transferred to a cot. His outer tunic and boots had been removed, and he was covered with a light blanket. He swiped at his eyes and looked from side to side.

Qui-Gon was on the cot next to him. He was pale and still, and dressed in a worn blue tunic. He too was draped with a blanket; Obi-Wan could not see his wounds. But he breathed; that much was certain. He still breathed.

Obi-Wan slipped from his cot and went to his master's side. Tentatively, he touched Qui-Gon's cheek; it was reassuringly warm despite its pallor. He touched the hand that lay at Qui-Gon's side. It too was warm, and blessedly familiar with its calluses and large, blunt fingers. Qui-Gon's pulse was steady; perhaps fainter than usual, but steady nonetheless.

His heart full, Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

"Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon's eyes were open. He looked exhausted, but Obi-Wan had never seen a more wondrous and welcoming sight. "Master."

Slowly, Qui-Gon opened his arms, and they clung together carefully in silent joy and thanksgiving.

*************** 

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon exclaimed. "Come in."

Obi-Wan offered Qui-Gon a quizzical grin. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Not at all." Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's elbow and steered him toward the sofa. "I barely recognized you. I was beginning to think your skin was actually dark purple from all that spehr dust."

"And I thought it suited me," Obi-Wan remarked with a laugh. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No, stay there." Qui-Gon went into the kitchen and returned with two tumblers of pale-gold wine. "I didn't have time to gather anything to make a meal, so I asked the kitchen to prepare a few things." He sat beside Obi-Wan, handed him a glass, and touched his own to Obi-Wan's. "To six years."

"To six years," Obi-Wan echoed softly. "This year certainly trumps last year, don't you think?"

"Indeed it does," Qui-Gon smiled. "When was the last time we were able to celebrate here at the Temple?"

"On our first anniversary," Obi-Wan said. "Every other year has been spent on a mission. You prepared a meal for me then, too." He smiled. "Someday I must return the favor."

"You may do so when you're a knight and have your own quarters," Qui-Gon said dryly. "I'm fond of your agemates, Obi-Wan, but the atmosphere of a quiet celebration is somewhat diminished in the presence of fourteen other apprentices."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Point taken, Master." He took a drink of the wine and sat back comfortably, seeming pleased to be in Qui-Gon's quarters.

Qui-Gon sipped his own wine, looking at Obi-Wan's slender fingers as they clasped the glass. He averted his eyes, then got to his feet. "Hungry?"

"Famished," Obi-Wan said. "I spent two hours in the saber training hall with Garen."

Qui-Gon grunted, surveying the assortment of white cartons spread out on the kitchen counter.

Obi-Wan was at his elbow. "Let me help."

"Very well," Qui-Gon said. He stacked some cartons and handed them to Obi-Wan. "Take those in."

They sat on the floor at the low table in amiable companionship, sharing from the cartons. The kitchen staff, which was known more for nutrition than for tempting palates, had outdone themselves; the food was excellent. Talk, wine, and laughter flowed easily as both agreed upon the need for decompression after their last harrowing mission.

"Do you want this last piece?" Obi-Wan inquired, spearing a chunk of braised shellfish.

"You have it," Qui-Gon said. He took another drink, leaning back against the sofa and stretching his legs, taking in the sight of Obi-Wan talking and eating with unselfconscious enjoyment. How much he's changed, Qui-Gon mused, and how little.

Obi-Wan was a comely young man. At the age of nineteen, his face had lost much of its childish roundness, but there were still traces of softness about him that would never be entirely eradicated. His jaw curved gently; it was not chiseled or jutting. His eyes were clear and guileless, though that would change soon enough. His mouth was perfectly ordinary unless he smiled -- no, Qui-Gon corrected himself. Obi-Wan had a grin, impossibly wide and happy, and a joyous, boisterous laugh to match. Obi-Wan's beauty, Qui-Gon concluded, was the sum of the parts.

Beauty! From what darkened recess of his mind had that emerged? Though it was true; he did find Obi-Wan attractive, as did several of Obi-Wan's agemates. Yesterday, after debriefing, they'd run into Garen Muln and some other apprentices; there had been no mistaking the decidedly lustful look in Garen's eyes as he'd held Obi-Wan away from him, declaring it had been too long since they'd seen one another.

Obi-Wan had spent the evening with Garen, Reeft, Bant, and a number of other apprentices. Qui-Gon had seen him at breakfast in the morning, laughing and talking with the same group. He'd stayed at a distance, choosing to take his meal with Master Clyte-An Dun, a friend he'd not seen in a year or more. His gaze had strayed toward Obi-Wan frequently, though, and he'd wondered if Obi-Wan and Garen had been intimate.

Stop, he chided himself sternly. It's serious enough that you're harboring inappropriate feelings for your padawan without speculating on possible sexual activity that's none of your business. He's of age, he can do as he pleases.

Qui-Gon took a hasty swallow of wine. Why now, of all times, was he thinking of Obi-Wan this way? Obi-Wan had certainly never exhibited any interest in Qui-Gon, and that was as it should be. While sexual relations between masters and apprentices were not proscribed by the Council, neither were they encouraged, and too often a sexual entanglement led to unforeseen complications in the training bond. While Obi-Wan was possessed of a sturdy cheerfulness, forthright opinions, and occasional bursts of diffident affection toward Qui-Gon, he'd never displayed untoward behavior, not so much as a suggestive word or lingering glance. Nor would he, Qui-Gon thought with a touch of wry regret; Obi-Wan was a model of decorum.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, Master." Obi-Wan reached for his glass of wine; his tunic gaped at the neck, revealing a V-shaped breadth of pale skin. He was so well-scrubbed -- a reaction, he'd laughingly admitted, to the conditions of the spehr mine that had been their home for a month -- that the hollow of his throat actually glowed.

Qui-Gon, who had seen Obi-Wan naked on countless prosaic occasions, felt the sudden urge to tear those modest tunics open and taste that pale, gleaming flesh. More precisely, he longed to sweep the low table free of containers and wineglasses, throw Obi-Wan upon it, and ravish him until they could both no longer move.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon nodded and took another drink, trying to banish the image of Obi-Wan beneath him, strong legs clasping Qui-Gon's waist, their muted grunts and cries echoing in the stillness of the room. And just how long, he wondered, has this been building up? "Forgive me, Padawan," he said with a smile. "I know we didn't agree to exchange gifts this year, but..." He fumbled in the pocket of his tunic and withdrew a tiny box wrapped in copper-colored paper. "I saw this on Essere and thought it would serve as an anniversary gift, as well as a memento of our last mission." He was relieved that it wasn't necessary to rise; his body was behaving as treacherously as his mind.

"Master, how thoughtful." Instead of reaching out for the box, Obi-Wan came around to Qui-Gon's side of the table and knelt beside him. He unwrapped the paper neatly and opened the little cardboard box, removing the gift, a tiny band of flexible material to which was affixed a bead of polished spehr. He held it up to the light, twirling it between his fingers. "It's very beautiful, Master. Thank you. May I --"

"Please," Qui-Gon urged, happy at the genuine pleasure in Obi-Wan's eyes. He watched as Obi-Wan pulled the plain black bead from the feathery end of his braid and attached the new ornament. The stone was satin-smooth, and of a purple so dark it was nearly black. It looked very attractive against Obi-Wan's soft auburn hair.

Qui-Gon gave a long, inward sigh. It didn't matter how long the attraction had been building; the important thing was that he'd caught it in time to prevent any damaging influence. And, he grudgingly admitted, before my pride was wounded. It was folly to even wish that Obi-Wan might have been interested in him, no matter how much he might have liked to.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan said quietly. "It's a beautiful gift, and I shall cherish it."

"You're very welcome, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said in the same tone.

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands, then directly at Qui-Gon. His eyes were brilliant, his lips parted, and his face flooded with intense color. He was a very short distance from Qui-Gon; had Qui-Gon leaned forward, their mouths would have touched. Obi-Wan looked a trifle bewildered; his chest rose and fell with slightly more force than usual.

Comely? He's beautiful, Qui-Gon thought with a peculiar melange of regret, longing, and -- worst of all -- hope. It was a beauty that had nothing to do with the arrangement of his features; no, this loveliness radiated from within. Such vitality, such strength. Almost against his will, and with a pang in his heart, he touched the soft, wispy end of Obi-Wan's braid. "It suits you. Happy anniversary, Padawan."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, and lowered his eyes, folding his hands on his lap. When he looked up, he was calm, composed; his lips smiled, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. "Happy anniversary, Master."

******************* 

Qui-Gon stared at the tunic laid out on the cot and struck his palm with a fist. Had anyone he'd known seen the gesture, he might have been surprised and even alarmed; it displayed an anger and frustration Qui-Gon rarely felt and almost never exhibited.

Two weeks. Two weeks that Obi-Wan had been missing, and now this, carelessly tossed on the ambassador's doorstep like an afterthought -- crumpled and bloodied, with a savage tear down its back as though it had been ripped from Obi-Wan's body. There was no accompanying holovid, no ransom note -- only his padawan's tunic.

Qui-Gon could not even tell whether or not Obi-Wan was alive. The only indication he'd been taken was his lightsaber, blasted into half-melted, unusable shards of metal and crystal. Qui-Gon had saved it -- an instinctive, frail, human gesture, perhaps, but he would not discard Obi-Wan's careful craftsmanship while his fate was uncertain. It would seem too much like resignation.

If only he were able to reach Obi-Wan through the communion of their training bond! He'd made attempt after attempt to touch Obi-Wan's presence, and was still doing so. Every moment he could spare was dedicated to calling out to Obi-Wan, begging for some sort of contact. Obi-Wan was alive -- he must be alive, Qui-Gon thought fiercely. He would have sensed Obi-Wan's passage into the Force. And yet this strange silence pervaded him; it was as if Obi-Wan had simply winked out of existence.

The ambassador had expressed her regrets; the whole planet had gone mad, she'd stated sadly. The only thing to do was wait for the kidnappers to identify themselves. They would; it was inevitable.

Qui-Gon sank onto the cot and gathered up the tunic. It was Obi-Wan's inner tunic; Qui-Gon buried his face in its forlornly bedraggled folds, inhaling its scent and hoping that his padawan's captors had seen fit to give him a blanket. It was the cold season on Ibernon.

The faint rustle of paper caught his attention. Investigating, Qui-Gon found a tiny flower made of folded paper in the inner pocket of the tunic. He cradled the delicate thing in his palm; it was no more than half the length of his index finger, in the shape of a floating waterblossom. Eeth Koth had taught Obi-Wan the craft, blending patience, skill, and beauty in one soothing exercise. Lately, the floors of any transport cabin they'd boarded had been littered with miniature replicas of flowers, insects, birds, and snowflakes. Children liked the miniatures, Obi-Wan had said, and it was preferable, he'd added pointedly, to learning chance games of dubious repute. In response, Qui-Gon had chuckled at Obi-Wan's jaundiced expression and offered to teach him six-point sabacc.

Gently, Qui-Gon closed his hand around the flower, wondering if Obi-Wan had constructed it during his captivity. It pained him beyond measure to think of his padawan with nothing but bits of paper for solace.

Sudden bitterness flooded Qui-Gon's veins. Much good I was to him when he needed help, he thought. I failed at mediating peace on this Force-forsaken planet as surely as I failed in my duty to protect him. He smiled in spite of his anger and sense of powerlessness. Obi-Wan would have chided him for that.

"Master Jedi!"

Qui-Gon started and faced the door, the tunic and flower still clutched in his hands.

It was the ambassador, nearly unrecognizable out of her finely embroidered gowns, stylish coiffures, and elaborate makeup. Her face was drawn, her body gaunt with hunger; the embargos had left her quadrant in utter poverty. To feed her people, she'd sold every valuable item in her magnificent house on the black market. Her parlors were barracks; her kitchens and bedchambers were medical units. In the space of just a few months, she'd transformed from what seemed a pampered, vacuous diplomat into a lean, wearily tough commander-in-chief of the rebel forces of Ibernon.

Undoubtedly, Qui-Gon thought, those characteristics had been in her all along; it had taken dreadful calamity for true leadership to emerge. "What is it, Your Excellency?"

"Obi-Wan's captors," she said. "They've chosen to communicate with us. They want to speak with you."

Qui-Gon leapt to his feet. "Have you seen Obi-Wan?"

"Not yet," she said. Her face held an odd expression.

"What is it?"

"When you see who they are..." She shook her head. "It's Sipryian. I should not have been surprised."

Qui-Gon strode to the commpanel, forcing the ambassador to run to catch up. He stopped before the screen, concealing his displeasure at seeing the young king, Sipryian Morin, standing with his arms crossed, a look of smug triumph on his face.

"Surprised, Jedi?"

"More than I should have been," Qui-Gon said. "Where is Obi-Wan?"

"We'll come to that in a moment," Morin said. "I have a list of demands."

"Your right to make demands ended when you demolished your own capital!" the ambassador snapped.

Qui-Gon made a stilling gesture. "The people of Ibernon have demands of their own," he said. "For your planet's sake, Your Majesty, you must cease this relentless assault upon your subjects."

"You're persuasive," Morin snarled. "You'll make the Tribune body see the error of its ways, Jedi, or your apprentice will suffer excruciating agony before I kill him."

Qui-Gon glanced at the ambassador; furious, bristling with tension, she glowered at the screen. He swiftly examined her aides, former lawmakers accustomed to comfortable politics and soft living, now battle-hardened and with the faces of the desperate rebels they now were. He looked at the ambassador's young son, a gentle boy of fourteen, baffled and grieved by the bloodshed around him. He'd become great friends with Obi-Wan and worried about him excessively since his disappearance.

"I'll consider your demands," Qui-Gon said, "but I must have guarantees. Show me Obi-Wan now."

Morin appeared to think a moment. Finally he nodded. "You're prudent, Jedi. All right. You," he barked at someone Qui-Gon couldn't see, "bring the Jedi in."

Qui-Gon caught his breath as his padawan was shoved into view. Obi-Wan looked terrible. His hands were tied behind his back, his arms bound to his sides, and a length of cloth was loosely knotted around his neck -- a strip from his outer tunic, Qui-Gon realized, now employed as a blindfold or gag. He wore only his trousers, and they were stiff with filth and torn along one leg.

Obi-Wan's naked torso, as well as his face, was covered with cuts and bruises, both old and recent. Someone had been beating him regularly. Where his chest was not crisscrossed with thin rope, red welts blazed; dried blood matted his hair. A dull metallic collar encircled his neck. Somewhere on his body, too, Qui-Gon guessed, had been implanted a detonator. If Obi-Wan attempted escape, his captors would simply deploy the explosive and Obi-Wan would be blown to pieces.

Qui-Gon clasped his hands behind his back and managed to speak calmly. "Obi-Wan."

"Master," Obi-Wan replied. He stood as straight as possible, impressively dignified, even though a masked, burly soldier gripped his arms on either side. "I'm glad to see you're well."

"I regret that you are not, my padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "I'll have you free soon -- I promise."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Thank you, Master."

Morin broke in, shoving Obi-Wan and the soldiers to one side. "My demands," he said.

"I wasn't finished talking to my apprentice," Qui-Gon said. His nerves felt stretched to their limits. "If you don't mind."

Morin seemed at a loss. His mouth opened and closed; finally, he shrugged angrily and grasped Obi-Wan by his short tail of hair, dragging him forward. "Very well," he said. "Talk. And make it fast."

Qui-Gon didn't like the way the king's hand lingered on Obi-Wan's body. "Are you otherwise unharmed, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Yes, Master," he said, darting a sideways look at the king. "Thus far."

Qui-Gon thought he'd interpreted the look correctly: not for much longer if you don't hurry, Master. He wished he could think of something reassuring to say, but the truth was that Obi-Wan was in terrible danger, and they both knew it.

"We missed our anniversary, Master," Obi-Wan said suddenly.

The king shot them both a suspicious glance, as though they'd begun to talk in code.

"We'll celebrate upon your return," Qui-Gon said. "Seven years -- a momentous occasion."

"That's enough," the king snapped.

"I made you a gift," Obi-Wan said. "A paper flower. It's --" He was silenced by the heavy blow one of the soldiers delivered to his midsection. He sank to his knees, then fell awkwardly to one side, gasping for breath.

"Leave him alone!" Qui-Gon shouted. His stomach knotted; he yearned for revenge. Obi-Wan, he thought. Obi-Wan. I cannot lose you now. There is so much I haven't told you.

"Get him out of here," the king ordered. He glared at Qui-Gon, ignoring the soldiers as they dragged a limp Obi-Wan away. "I'm transmitting the full list of demands now," he said. "You have two days to respond. If I'm not satisfied, your apprentice dies -- and in more creative ways than you could possibly imagine, I assure you."

The viewscreen blurred, then went black.

The ambassador stalked up and down the room. "How dare he! And what a coward, retreating to secrecy. I tell you, if we could only find him, we could shift the balance in this war." She let out a string of curses that would never have passed her lips as a diplomat.

Qui-Gon stood quite still for a moment. Silently, he went back to the tiny storeroom that held his cot, and retrieved the little paper flower. He stared at it; then, with no wasted movements, unfolded it, petal by petal.

His effort was rewarded; there, on the unfolded paper, now crumpled, was a miniature map of the capital's northernmost quadrant drawn in brown ink. There was a blot on one location -- Morin's headquarters.

Qui-Gon looked at it for a few moments, realizing with growing dismay that the ink was not ink at all. He pressed the paper to his heart. My padawan, he thought. I could not have asked for a better anniversary gift.

Slowly, with tears in his eyes, he kissed the paper. Then, shoving it deep in a pocket, he turned and strode out the door.

***************** 

"I'm sorry I'm late," Obi-Wan said, shrugging out of his robe. "I was assigned to the courtesy tour today, and there were some stragglers."

"As usual," Qui-Gon said with a short laugh. "I wonder what it is they hope to find off the tour path?"

"Oh, you know -- that which is forbidden is doubly enticing. I think they believe that there are chambers of ancient and mystical wisdom within the Temple precincts."

"I'm not sure there aren't," Qui-Gon replied. "Yesterday I took a wrong turn in the Archive and ended up in a storeroom. You should have seen the look Jocasta gave me -- it was as though I'd spit upon the Council floor."

"I think that's because she knows you and your unorthodox methods of research only too well, Master," Obi-Wan grinned. Pulling a package from one of the deep pockets of his robe, he thrust it at Qui-Gon. "Happy anniversary."

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon exclaimed. "I told you --"

"Yes, I know," Obi-Wan interrupted. "But I used my own judgment, Master, as you've instructed me to do. After all, my only gift to you last year was a bloodstained paper flower."

Qui-Gon shot Obi-Wan a fond look. "Don't diminish its importance, if you please."

Abashed, Obi-Wan waved a hand. "I thought I'd get you something a bit more traditional."

Qui-Gon smiled, holding the package in one hand. It was a box wrapped in silvery grey silk and tied with a moss-green ribbon. "May I open it now?"

"Please do, Master."

Qui-Gon indicated the sofa. "Please sit, Obi-Wan. I've gathered a few things to eat, but everything's warming at the moment. Can I get you some wine?"

"In a moment," Obi-Wan smiled. "Open the gift first."

Qui-Gon sat and placed the package on the table. He untied the ribbon, unwrapped the silk, and lifted the lid from the nondescript box. Within, nestled in a bed of moss-green velvet, was a wine set of palest silver-grey pottery, its rims chased with bright silver.

Gently, reverently, Qui-Gon lifted out the two little cups and the tiny decanter. The pottery was eggshell-thin; they glowed, translucent in the soft lighting. "Obi-Wan, these are...remarkable." He turned a cup in his hand, marveling at the exquisite craftsmanship. "You got them from Shirae?" he asked, naming the planet widely known for generations of skilled artisans.

"Yes." Obi-Wan's face was flushed. "I'm so pleased that you like them."

"They are beautiful," Qui-Gon said quietly. He looked into Obi-Wan's eyes, which seemed to reflect every light in the room. "Beautiful," he repeated.

"The decanter's meant to hold just two servings," Obi-Wan said. "So if you have only one guest, and you --" He broke off, dropping his eyes swiftly. "That is, you needn't get out a large decanter if you aren't inclined to more than one drink."

"How very clever," Qui-Gon said. "Well, we must test them, mustn't we?" He rose and took the set into the kitchen.

"Can I help?" Obi-Wan called.

"No -- stay right there. I'll be out in a moment." Qui-Gon gripped the counter and leaned over it, his insides churning. Even a Jedi had his limits, and Qui-Gon had reached his.

Love for an apprentice was a welcome emotion; it augmented respect and strengthened duty. Desire was more complicated; it could be acted upon or subdued. There were benefits to each. Love compounded with desire, however, was nearly unbearable. It burned him from within, more pain than joy.

He thought, suddenly, of his first year with Obi-Wan. He had spent years building a shell around himself, wall upon wall of defense to shield himself from the hurt he'd suffered from his last padawan's betrayal. Then along came twelve-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi, dismantling his defenses, braving chasms of bitterness and hurt by doing no more than simply existing in Qui-Gon's life. Qui-Gon had been expected to shelter him and he had; now, after eight years, he was the one in need of shelter. He felt oddly fragile and vulnerable, undone by a young man who'd given far more than he'd taken away.

"Master?"

"Coming." Qui-Gon hastily cleaned the cups and decanter, filled the decanter with the pale-gold wine Obi-Wan liked, made room on a tray filled with chopped vegetables, cheese, and fruit, and carried it into the common room. He used a touch of the Force to keep the tray upright, not trusting his hands to stay perfectly steady.

Obi-Wan poured them each a cup of wine. Handing Qui-Gon his share, he held up the wine in a toast. "To eight years."

"To eight years," Qui-Gon said. They touched glasses and drank.

Qui-Gon rose abruptly and went to a shelf. He retrieved a small box and came back to the sofa. "Like you, Obi-Wan, I used my own judgment. Happy anniversary."

Obi-Wan's mouth widened in one of his spectacularly happy grins. "Two of a kind, aren't we? Down to the colors!" He took the parcel and held it close for examination. The paper that wrapped it was silver, the thin ribbon pale blue. "Master, you're a wonder."

"Hardly that, Padawan." Never had Qui-Gon suffered such incalculable pain. "Open it."

Obi-Wan unwrapped the package and opened the thin, flat box. He stared at it for a long moment in silence, then lifted the object out and held it to the light for a better look.

It was a holo-image emblazoned onto a small square of duristeel. There were two people in the image, a man and a woman. The man was slightly stocky, with thinning grey hair; nevertheless his face was youthful and full of vitality. The woman was small-boned, with a quantity of dark hair; she was laughing, the smile on her face wide and mischievous.

Obi-Wan set the square of duristeel on the table and looked at it, his lips compressed into a tight line. After a moment, he turned away. "My parents," he said in a muted voice.

Qui-Gon was puzzled. Was Obi-Wan displeased by the gift? "Yes," he replied.

"How did you come to find it?"

"The government of Shalai sent a few possessions to the Temple when your parents died, as I was listed as your guardian," Qui-Gon said. "The holo-image was the only thing I was allowed to keep. I know that family mementos are frowned upon, but I believe we should hold our earliest beginnings in our hearts." Qui-Gon hesitated. "Was it an inappropriate gift, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, as though he did not trust himself to speak. "No," he said at last. His eyes, brilliant with emotion, met Qui-Gon's. "No. It's...thank you, Master. Thank you so much." He took a quick sip of wine and cleared his throat. "You must have known it would be precious to me."

"I thought you should have it. Your parents committed a brave and unselfish act, giving you to the Jedi. I wish I had thanked them when I could have."

"They're only a dim memory," Obi-Wan said, "but this makes them more real, more present. I wish I had thanked them too -- had they not given me to the Jedi, I'd never have met you, Master."

"I think," Qui-Gon said, his voice slow and measured, "that we were destined to meet, Padawan."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Yes. To destiny, then." He clicked his cup against Qui-Gon's, and they drank again.

They sat side by side in silence, but there was no awkwardness between them. The hurt in Qui-Gon's heart had dimmed to a faint pulse. So be it, he thought. I have, in this moment, all I could possibly want; it would be greedy of me to demand more. I will be happy with what the Force has granted me.

"Are you hungry, Obi-Wan?"

"No, Master."

Qui-Gon nodded. The pain fluttered, faint but discernible. "Eight years," he mused aloud.

"More than a third of my life," Obi-Wan said.

How young he is still, Qui-Gon thought, stealing a glance at Obi-Wan's profile. The hurt flared in him; he caught himself in the act of putting a hand out to touch Obi-Wan and pulled it back, feigning discomfort with his hair tie.

Obi-Wan caught the movement and turned, staring at Qui-Gon. His lips were parted, and his brow creased in apparent distress. "Master," he said softly. "I --" He let out a sharp, short exhale, and moved closer. Their lips were dangerously close.

Qui-Gon felt the hammering of his heart in his ears. "Obi-Wan --"

With another sharp breath, Obi-Wan leaned nearer and pressed his mouth to Qui-Gon's. They stayed in that position, frozen, for a few heartbeats.

Hardly believing his own senses, Qui-Gon encircled Obi-Wan in his arms, drew him closer still, and kissed him passionately. "Padawan," he whispered against Obi-Wan's mouth. "Padawan."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Obi-Wan's voice shook.

"I didn't know. I didn't know. Forgive me."

"Qui-Gon --" Obi-Wan tangled his hands in Qui-Gon's hair and kissed him in return, clinging to him fiercely.

The pain in Qui-Gon's heart shimmered, widened into a blast of fire, and dissolved, leaving intense heat but no suffering. "I love you," he said. "I have always loved you."

"Like this?" Obi-Wan asked, his eyes wide.

"Years now," Qui-Gon admitted. "At least three."

"You never said anything."

"I didn't know how you felt about me," Qui-Gon said. He stroked Obi-Wan's cheek and rubbed his thumb across the dimple in his chin. "I thought you'd feel my emotions were inappropriate."

"I've longed for you since -- almost since the beginning," Obi-Wan said. "I love you, Master."

"You're so self-contained, my apprentice," Qui-Gon smiled, his heart beating unsteadily. "You've taken all your lessons to heart."

"Kiss me," Obi-Wan pleaded. He arched beneath Qui-Gon's caresses, his arousal evident as he boldly straddled Qui-Gon, pressing their bodies together. He devoured Qui-Gon's mouth, the taste of his tongue sweet, warm, and wet from the wine. "I want to make up for lost time," he murmured. "Please, Master."

Qui-Gon nodded. "The bedroom, Padawan."

Obi-Wan led Qui-Gon into the bedroom, where they stripped off their clothes with unsteady hands. Once naked, they looked at each other with some embarrassment at their all-too-obvious excitement.

Qui-Gon smoothed over the awkwardness of the moment by sinking to the bed and reaching out to Obi-Wan, pulling him close. He held Obi-Wan's hips in his hands and kissed the firm flesh of Obi-Wan's belly. "What is it you want, Obi-Wan?"

"Anything," Obi-Wan said. "Anything at all."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"I mean it," Obi-Wan insisted. "Anything. You see, I've never had sex with another person before."

Qui-Gon stopped and looked up at Obi-Wan. "Never?"

Obi-Wan flushed, but nodded with decided emphasis. "Never. I'm a virgin."

"I see." Qui-Gon let go of Obi-Wan's hips, disconcerted.

"Master." Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and rested his arms on Qui-Gon's thighs. He stroked Qui-Gon's torso with a diffident expression. "Does that bother you?"

"No. It surprises me, though. Never once, Obi-Wan?"

"I was waiting for you," Obi-Wan replied simply.

Qui-Gon could not speak. He brushed a hand over Obi-Wan's hair, finding his voice after a few moments. "But what if we'd never..."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Then I'd have been very unhappy."

"I hope I don't disappoint you," Qui-Gon said uncertainly.

"You couldn't disappoint me," Obi-Wan said with a smile. "I love you and want to be with you. I don't need you to perform like a Mklanth whore."

"Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan let out a burst of laughter. "I said I've never had sex. I didn't say I don't know anything about it."

Qui-Gon smiled in relief and urged Obi-Wan to his feet. "Well then -- let's find out what you do know."

They lay full-length on the bed, touching each other's naked bodies. Qui-Gon was nearly delirious with joy but acted with exquisite care; he handled Obi-Wan like the most fragile crystal until Obi-Wan let out a growl and pulled Qui-Gon atop him. "Harder," he breathed. "I can't take this."

Qui-Gon smiled wickedly, wriggled down, and positioned himself between Obi-Wan's spread legs. He closed his mouth over the head of Obi-Wan's cock, sucking lightly, and teased and stroked the soft skin of Obi-Wan's balls with his hands. He brought Obi-Wan close to the brink of orgasm time after time, pulling back only when Obi-Wan showed signs of climaxing.

Obi-Wan's thighs were sprawled widely apart, and his hips spasmed helplessly. The muscles in his arms trembled as he braced his hands against the wall, nearly clawing at it in his frenzy. Strangled cries emerged from his mouth, barely human-sounding. "Master," he moaned, "please...inside..."

Pushed to the edge of his own endurance, Qui-Gon rose and disappeared into the fresher, and emerged with a towel and a bottle of lotion. He poured some of it into the palm of his hand and stroked himself, groaning aloud.

Obi-Wan watched silently, his body gleaming with sweat.

"I should stretch you --" Qui-Gon began.

"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "Now." He arranged the towel on the bed, turned over, and rested his head on his forearms.

Qui-Gon knelt, stroking the small of Obi-Wan's back, his bottom, the backs of his legs. He lay atop Obi-Wan gingerly, reveling in his tight, compact body. "Am I crushing you?"

"No."

Qui-Gon positioned himself at the entrance to Obi-Wan's body, and pushed forward slowly.

Obi-Wan cried out; his body rebelled against the intrusion, tightening enough to deny Qui-Gon further access.

"Let me stretch you," Qui-Gon pleaded, kissing Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"No -- no. Just give me a moment." Obi-Wan lay still, breathing deeply. After a short time, he nodded. "All right."

Qui-Gon pushed forward again. He felt Obi-Wan tense, then yield. He slid inside, gasping aloud as his cock was completely and tightly enveloped.

Obi-Wan let out a soft whimper and pushed backward against Qui-Gon.

Simultaneously touched and aroused, Qui-Gon shifted, pushing Obi-Wan into the mattress, then pulling back slightly, establishing a rhythm. He insinuated a slippery hand beneath Obi-Wan's hips and brushed it against Obi-Wan's stiff organ, moving slowly back and forth.

Obi-Wan let out another cry, bucked slightly, and climaxed, spilling into Qui-Gon's hand. His body tightened around Qui-Gon, who thrust deeply inside Obi-Wan with a groan and reached his own orgasm as Obi-Wan strained against him. They fell forward onto the bed, exhausted; Qui-Gon barely found the strength to pull out of Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon awoke after a light sleep to find Obi-Wan beside him, stroking his hair, his eyes filled with love. It was not a new expression; he'd simply been too blind to see it for what it was. "So," he rumbled contentedly, "were you disappointed?"

"No," Obi-Wan said. "Were you?"

Qui-Gon lay his hand on Obi-Wan's cheek. "Never." He brought his lips to Obi-Wan's and kissed him lightly but thoroughly. "We have to make up for lost time, though."

"Three years' worth at least," Obi-Wan agreed solemnly, his eyes sparkling. "Master --"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "This has been the best anniversary yet."

Pinning his apprentice for another kiss, Qui-Gon found himself inclined to agree.

********************* 

Obi-Wan suppressed an impatient sigh as the door slid open to reveal Anakin, wearing black knitted exercise gear and an expression that was half sullen, half remorseful. Glaring up at his apprentice, Obi-Wan folded his arms. "I know what you're going to say --"

"Please, Master --"

"-- and my answer is still no, Padawan." Obi-Wan turned, walking to the middle of the common room and sitting at the low table, leaving Anakin to follow or leave as he pleased.

Anakin chose to follow. He knelt at the table opposite Obi-Wan and fixed him with his most persuasive gaze. "Master," he began, "I promise --"

Obi-Wan held up an imperiously forestalling hand. "Enough of your promises, Anakin. I won't discuss this. I won't have it discussed any longer." Not today, he thought sadly. Give me some peace for one day, Anakin.

"It was a mistake," Anakin mumbled, resentment eloquent in the posture of his long, lean body.

"No," Obi-Wan said, pointing a finger. "When you skip Form IV saber training to speeder-race in the garbage pits, that is not a mistake. When you lie to your instructors, to me, and to a Council member as to your whereabouts, that is no mistake. You are confined to quarters, and you will give me hourly updates as agreed. When you have proved yourself worthy of my trust, then you may resume your social activities."

Anakin scowled. "You never --" He broke off, flushing.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Never what? Go on, say it."

"You never let me have any fun."

Obi-Wan's mouth dropped open. Sometimes he had difficulty believing that his padawan was almost nineteen. "You forget yourself, Anakin. You are a Jedi; duty comes before pleasure, always. And how unfair of you to make such an accusation. You know I'm happy to allow you social activity, as long as duty comes first. In fact, some would say I've been too lenient with you."

"But more Form IV training is pointless, Master. I've already exceeded Master Ven-Svai's abilities; he's told you that, I know he has. Why should I keep taking the class if I've achieved perfection?"

"Your skills are not lacking, but nobody, not even Yoda, is perfect," Obi-Wan said curtly, hard-pressed not to snap at his apprentice and tell him to stop whining. "You want in discipline, my young padawan."

Anakin's face was mutinous. He sat in resentful silence for some time, his arms folded across his chest in unconscious imitation of Obi-Wan's habitual pose. At last he met Obi-Wan's eyes. "You know, sometimes I have a hard time picturing you at my age."

Implying, not very subtly, that I'm a stodgy old man, Obi-Wan thought in amusement. He could not entirely hide the twinkle in his eyes as he responded, "Believe it or not, I was young once, too."

"That's not what I meant," Anakin protested.

"Yes, it was," Obi-Wan said, a smile curving his lips. "Don't deny it."

Anakin lowered his eyes and grinned, slightly embarrassed. "All right. It was."

"Good," Obi-Wan said. "Well, I was young once, for your information. There's some truth to what you say, though; I was often instructed not to take everything so seriously."

"Were you?" Anakin asked, fascinated. "Who told you that?"

Obi-Wan smiled wistfully. "Qui-Gon did. I spent quite a bit of time trying to curb his more outlandish impulses -- usually rather fruitlessly, I might add. I had my moments, though, when I was every bit as rebellious as you are. Someday I'll tell you about Melida/Daan."

Anakin laughed. "Why not now?"

"Another time," Obi-Wan murmured. He picked up his wine and took a sip.

Anakin's eyes tracked the movement of Obi-Wan's hand. "Oh," he said. "Oh, Master -- I'm sorry. I forgot. I forgot about today."

Obi-Wan set down the little silver-grey cup, part of the gift he'd given his master years ago and only used one day each year. "No harm done."

"I am sorry, though," Anakin said earnestly. "Please forgive me. I won't ask to be released from my punishment again."

Obi-Wan gazed at his handsome, mercurial padawan. There were moments, such as now, when Anakin turned the extraordinary glow of his presence on, when Obi-Wan felt he could deny him nothing. The thought frightened Obi-Wan sometimes. What power Anakin could wield if he so chose, and yet, despite his bravado and outright arrogance, his apprentice barely seemed aware of his own astounding abilities. He will discover them all one day, Obi-Wan thought, and I shall have my work cut out for me. "Of course I forgive you, Padawan."

Anakin made as if to rise. "I'll leave you."

"No," Obi-Wan said, making a stilling gesture, "please stay." He realized he was unexpectedly lonely, and it would do him good to think about Qui-Gon in the presence of another who'd known him, even if only for a short while, and loved him. "Have some wine." He poured pale-gold wine from the decanter into the other cup.

Anakin accepted it with a nod. "You must have been thinking about him today."

Scarcely different from any other day, Obi-Wan thought. "Yes, I was."

"I wish I'd known him longer." Anakin took a drink and made a wry face at the wine's tartness.

Obi-Wan smiled. "I wish he were here to witness your growth. Even with his confidence in you, I think he'd be amazed."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"I remember looking at you on the day of his funeral," Anakin said softly, contemplating the silver chasing on the edge of the cup. "I remember thinking I'd never seen anyone look so sad in all my life -- even my mother on the day I left."

"I was sad," Obi-Wan replied in the same tone. "I grieved for a very long time afterward. The loss of a master -- of a friend and companion -- makes a tear in your life. It's never really fully mended. But as time passes, grief softens, and memory fills the shattered spaces."

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan intently. "Do you still grieve?"

"I still miss him," Obi-Wan said. He stared into his cup as though it contained innumerable mysterious secrets. On this day, this year as every year, he lost himself in silent contemplation of a time long past, shuffling through memories, examining them with tenderness, guarding them with care. On this day, he allowed himself to feel both the dizzying joy of his love for Qui-Gon and the terrible pain at his loss. Someday, he hoped, the joy would eclipse the pain.

"Happy anniversary, Master."

Obi-Wan met his padawan's sober gaze. "Thank you, Anakin."

Anakin lifted his cup and touched it to Obi-Wan's. "To Qui-Gon Jinn."

"To Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan echoed. Master, he thought. I wish you were here.

***************** 

Space was cold. Obi-Wan felt it acutely in his knees, his shoulders, his wrists, and the swollen joints of his fingers. After two decades of desert heat and chill, he'd thought himself accustomed to rapid shifts in temperature, but this relentless metallic frigidity sank into his bones, making him feel frail and old.

Well, why not? he thought with a smile. I am old. And flying straight toward death in the company of an audacious young freighter captain, a near-silent Wookiee, two droids, and a boy. It was almost a pity. He liked his companions. They were young and energetic and full of passion -- just what the Rebellion needed. But the Force had shown him that this was his fate. So be it; he was ready.

It had been a long time since the Force had flowed so strongly in his heart. Yesterday and the day before, he'd felt years younger, hale and vigorous as he'd herded Luke and the droids from the Jundland Wastes to Mos Eisley. Luke was so like his father -- quick tempered, thirsty for adventure, ever so slightly pessimistic, with a voice inclined to whine when he felt pressured. Obi-Wan smiled at that last. But if all that was true, so were the merits the son shared with the father: bravery, great strength in the Force, and a genuine desire to do good.

Luke was not ready to hear the whole truth about his family yet -- the young woman he was determined to rescue, the identity of her captor and the iron fist of the galaxy, his own eventual destiny. It was almost certain he would never hear those truths from Obi-Wan's lips. When finally he did, he would be better equipped to cope with the shock they would surely bring.

The galaxy lay upon the brink of change, and Obi-Wan's time was past.

He studied the hazy reflection of his own face in the polished metal of a storage canister. How old he looked. I wonder if, he thought with a slight smile, when I pass into the Force, Qui-Gon will recognize me. Will he see an old man, or the padawan I once was? Will we be able to choose our non-corporeal forms?

Chuckling at his own whimsy, he sat, drawing his robe tightly around himself. Today was the anniversary of his apprenticeship. He had faithfully observed it every year, even though every physical memento of celebration was long gone. The memories of Qui-Gon had been enshrined in his heart, and he cherished them fiercely. Some nights, during the purging of the Jedi, when he had lain in pools of filth and refuse, hiding from Anakin and his stormtroopers, they had been all that had sustained him. When the loneliness of his existence on Tatooine became unbearable, he had reached for those memories and drawn light and warmth from them. Qui-Gon, his guide, his mentor, his love, had been his strength in countless ways.

Now it was almost over; the events that Qui-Gon had set into action were about to reach culmination. He would meet his former apprentice on the field of battle one last time. Obi-Wan had been vouchsafed a glimpse of possible futures; hope lay at the end of each path. It was enough to satisfy him, to reassure him that his death would not be in vain.

Obi-Wan folded his hands in the sleeves of his robe. Happy anniversary, Master, he thought. I shall see you very soon.

End.


End file.
